Unbalanced
by Jest'lyn Tal
Summary: Knights of the Old Republic - Based off the game - Slipping away from the crew of the Ebon Hawk, one finds that alcohol and the presence of people who don't care about you one way or another can be very... soothing


Disclaimer: Standard. I own none of this except the inner thoughts of the main character. The rest is George Lucas'.  
  
I'd escaped them. Finally gotten away from the ship, away from the liquid eyed worship, the tin voiced devotion, the sardonic stories and the accusing mistrustful eyes. Not that they aren't the best friends I've ever had, mind you. The giggle rising at the back of my throat would have sounded unbalanced if I'd given voice to it. Hence the obvious decision to stifle it. I stared down into the amber unnamed liquid the bartender had handed me. Unbalanced.  
  
It was like one of those child's games. Where you had to balance your pieces into a configuration over selected squares on the playing field, choosing the design so carefully. Then you answered trivia questions. Who founded the Remilian order, who was the leader of the Senate during this uprising or that. Who topped the charts last week. And if you gave the wrong answers, squares started to fall. Whose building would last the longest?  
Whose lies to believe.  
They did a good job. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. Somehow they made a Smuggler that was still capable of being made to feel guilty. Pretty damn impressive. My lips tighten in a smile. Guilt was something I'd never felt. Why should I? I did things by my code of how they should be done. And in my line of business, everyone deserved to be punished. Everyone deserved a little heat.  
I pick up my drink and drain it in a quick angry gesture. Everyone. no one. It's funny to think that those people do not exist. Did some Jedi actually meet the prototype for these people? Or did they just grab them from a holovid or something. Cani, Jarod, Stett. All the stock figures from my smuggling years. All fake.  
"Fill it." I slide the glass back to the bartender and glare at him. He's unmoved. But the glass is given back to me in quick order. So maybe guilt is more a part of me than I thought. A nice little hook to set in their marionette.  
My eyes close. Bastila would say I'm being horrifically ungrateful. And Carth. he'd agree. A second chance to be a force for good. to atone for all the bad I'd done. But if Revan's mind was destroyed.how could they say it was me? I didn't do it! I didn't kill anyone. I never led troops into battle, then into rebellion, I never.I never ordered the torture of those who displeased me! I'd never /do/ that!  
And now sound does escape my throat. A strangled little pitiful sound.  
. then why do I remember? Why do I taste it.feel it. sometimes.  
One, two. the squares just keep falling away.  
Sharp on the heels comes the anger. I do remember - as much as I hate myself for it. And that means that this wasn't a friendly little mercy decision. They didn't give a dying mind a new personality since the old was unsalvageable. They trampled Revan into the dust. They did worse than kill, they destroyed. They destroyed me. Their pristine black and white worlds, playing God. And now I don't know what my mother looked like, I don't know if I really like Tarki Bread and I don't remember my first love. First kiss.  
Ha. If a Jedi ever had one.  
Hell, am I even a virgin?  
I begin to laugh now. And the giggle does sound as unbalanced as I feared. Jaelan had quite a few lovers over the years. Who would Revan have had?  
I splutter. Oh, God. Tell me not Malak. Anyone but Malak.  
Four, five. not much left.  
Another drink is gone. And the situation has become almost unbearably maudlin. I stand up. Time to go back to being their hero. Juhani's inspiration, Mission's big sister, Canderous' military genius, Carth's.  
Six.  
And now I don't want to go back.  
All that they've left me is guilt. That's the only thing that's a constant now.  
Well, that and my own regrets. How smoother it may have been to just not know. Though in a way it doesn't matter. Carth's painted my face in shades of Dustil's blood. He'll never forgive me for not keeping those shots fired.  
So it is the guilt. For what I have done and what I've not done. The door to the bar is opened and it slams against the frame as I shut it. I hadn't meant to push it so hard. Not really. But it felt good. My eyes narrow.  
Tears are fine but they aren't worth shit. So, they've taken from me? They need to accept what they get in return. I'll be what I'll always be. I'll rely on who I've always relied on - just myself. Light side and dark? They'll just have to handle what I decide is my Light. My Dark.  
Tattooine at dusk enfolds me as I seek out my ship. 


End file.
